The Living Room Makeover: An Unexpected Journey

Well, that escalated quickly. The smallest actions often have the most profound effects. The fact that I sit here now, typing these words for your ocular consumption on this ever-growing blog, is proof of that statement. When we bought this house, Handan and I didn’t set out to create a blog. We weren’t even thinking of becoming DiYers. This path we travel revealed itself to us back in November of 2013, our first month in this house we now call Home. When we toured this house, Handan and I both knew right away that it was the one for us. We loved it. When we moved in, we started to notice the flaws and the things we didn’t like so much. Among the things we didn’t like so much (*cough* hated *cough*) was the “brass ‘n’ glass” look of the master bath. Handan and I went to Home Depot and picked out a replacement faucet. My job was to install it the next day while she was at work. How hard could it be, right? Right? The next day became the current day, and I set to my task with a whistle and a will. I had a peek under the counter. Uh huh. That thing goes to that other thing. That one there is attached to this. Yup. Okay, time to start decoupling! And then came the yanking and unscrewing and twisting and pulling and swearing and kicking and pounding and screaming and generally not having a very good time. I thought this was supposed to be easy! What the heck! I can’t remember how long I wrestled the dang thing, but I did remove the old faucet at last. I unboxed the new faucet and gaped in horror as my stupidity glared back at me. The faucet I removed had a central stem and two handles for hot and cold water. The new faucet had only the stem, with the hot/cold on/off handle built into it. Now, I’m no mathematician, but by my calculations, that would have left me with two big holes in the sink. Crud. I stepped back and considered my problem: I was bested by a small faucet. I weighed my options: quit in shame and disgust or take this thing to the next level. I chose the next level. I dropped my tools and made a beeline for the garage. Home Depot was about to make another sale. That sink was old, and its time was up. I burst into the superstore and ran towards the bathrooms. I mean, I ran towards the place where they sell bathrooms. I mean, bathroom fixtures. Gah! Why do you have to be so literal? I scanned the wall of porcelain until I found one that suited my needs: it was white and it only had one hole. Perfect. I threw a fistful of dollars at the cashier and ran home with my prize. Wow, Handan would be so thrilled with the change and so proud of my initiative! I could hardly wait to get that beautiful sink into its new home! Cardboard flew as I unboxed the sink. Taking one more look at her sleek lines, I turned back to the old sink and started to pry it upwards. Once I had a good grip on the edges I lifted it up and out. I placed it on the floor then picked the new sink from its box and brought it over to the vanity. WHAT THE HECK?!? My pretty new sink was oval, but the hole in the vanity was hexagonal! Defeat was unacceptable. I thrust the sink into the opening, a round peg in a square hole, an orange in Appleville. The sink fit, but the corners of the hexagonal hole extended past the oval edges of the sink like little triangular middle fingers, each one flipping off my dignity. I ripped the new sink from the hole and tossed it aside, eyes blazing, lungs tearing at the air. That hole! That d@mned hexagonal hole! My mind shrank and retreated, and something more primal took over. I grasped the counter top and heaved with all my frustration. If the sink won’t fit, you must not quit! The countertop didn’t budge. Dangit! I grabbed a screwdriver and went hunting for fasteners. Once I found and removed the screws, I heaved again and pulled that horrid countertop from its perch. Waves of satisfaction washed over me. And then the terror took hold. Holy crap, what had I done? Handan was going to kill me! This wasn’t in the budget – none of it! Not even the sink! As I considered my fate, I ripped off the backsplashes. Well, I couldn’t leave the job half done, could I?? As I said, this all happened in the days before the blog, so there was no reason for me to take photos of this debacle process. But I thought that if I sent Handan a photo while she was at work, it might soften the blow and get her prepared for what she’d find when she came home from work that night. I sent the pic and hoped for the best. It didn’t help. She was seriously PO'd. When she got home, I endured her wrath until she regained her wits. Then she looked at the situation with a new eye. “Well…let’s get rid of this vanity and get new one. It’s all good, my Babes. Don’t worry. Come on, let’s go to Home Depot. We’ll also paint the walls while we’re at it.” And with that sentence, Handan launched us headlong into two months of painting every interior wall in the house. Along the way, we changed a couple more sinks and faucets and started to teach ourselves all about our house and what it took to fix it ourselves. We became DiYers. So Thanksgiving morning, when I removed a corner shelf in the living room that I had built three years ago, it was no surprise when Handan said, “Babes, instead of touching up these screw holes with the red paint, I think I’ll paint the walls with something new.” I knew that the walls were just the beginning. This was the butterfly effect again. ***** Later that Thanksgiving morning, as I tried to relax in my recliner and tune out the world, Handan’s voice cut through my holiday calm. “Hey, Babes?” Those two words meant trouble. It’s never, “Hey, Babes? Let’s go on a vacation!” or “Hey, Babes? Here’s a beer. Relax!” Nope. “Hey, Babes?” is always followed by “Could you…,” “Can you…,” “Would you…,” or “Will you….” On Thanksgiving morning it was, “Hey, Babes? Can you build the scaffolding, so I can start painting, and you can change the ceiling fans?” The scaffolding. 12 feet of towering steel, 404 pounds of rolling reach distributed among 4 boxes that had been sitting in the garage since we bought it over a year ago. I thought the day would never come. I thought it would sit in the garage until it faded into the surrounding mess. I was wrong. The ceiling fans were mounted 18 feet above the floor. They were plain white - functional, if not beautiful. Two years ago, Handan bought replacement fans, but we had no way of getting up there to change them. Until now. So if you've read all the way to this point, I applaud you. For those for whom it was TL;DR (Too Long; Didn't Read), welcome back. Let's have a look at how things were. This first pic is how the house looked when we bought it (minus the furniture - that belonged to the previous owners). *Affiliate links used in this post*